


hold on (I'm coming).

by flydale_north



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Newton's passwords are all Pokémon, inappropriate boners, inappropriate use of music, ladder sex, potential AU where they fall to the ground and that's why Hermann needs a cane, provocative dancing, questionable flouting of OSHA, would you expect anything different
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 06:51:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1678802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flydale_north/pseuds/flydale_north
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newton's playlist of "songs appropriate for the lab" is driving Hermann up the wall. It's <i>definitely</i> not secretly turning him on. Turns out that retreating up a ladder is not the refuge you thought it was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notastranger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notastranger/gifts).



There are days when the workload is so high and the stress so palpable that Hermann takes taciturn comfort in Newton’s presence alongside him in the lab; Newton, who reminds him to eat, who rubs his fingers between his own when they are aching from overuse, who closes his laptop when his eyes are glassy and painful and tells him softly that it is really time to sleep.

And then there are days when the horrible song about the milkshake is playing on full blast over the lab speakers, and Newton is seemingly compelled to convulse parts of his body so violently that Hermann is reminded of his emergency first aid training. By the time the song is halfway over, Hermann has resolved to never let Newton near the ice cream ever again. Thank God the Shatterdome is devoid of anything resembling a lawn, or anything green, for that matter.

Hermann, on his part, is preparing a report on the Breach’s shifting gravitational field and its probable correlation to the size and timing of its successive dilation. He is not gaining much headway. After finding himself forced to squeeze in the letter “m” he has inadvertently left off the word “mass”, he raises his head and barks in Newton’s direction, “Don’t you have better things to do than twerk around the lab like a ridiculous 14-year-old girl?”

“Oh my God,” Newton wheezes, suddenly clutching the edge of his desk for dear life. “Oh my God. You said ‘twerk’! Was that a guess, or do you really know what that _is_?”

“I make it a point to be as precise as possible when I inevitably file yet another unanswered complaint against your insufferable behavior.”

“Hah! That’s my boyfriend, a font of knowledge,” Newton pronounces cheerfully. “To answer your question, no, I don’t have anything better to do. I’m running a gel, and it’s going to take at least another hour. Hey! Did you know the Kaiju have 37 common amino acids? Some of these no one has ever seen before! I’m going to name one of them ‘Newtonine’, and then I guess I’ll have to dig into the houses of Westeros and the characters of — ” 

“Newton!” Hermann roars, as the song winds down and iTunes launches into the screechy electronic notes of the next. “I don’t give a _damn_ about your next lunatic foray into whatever biological folly you’ve stumbled onto now. It is tedious and, you don’t need me to tell you, entirely unprofessional.”

Newton smirks, to Hermann’s irritation. “Whatever, dude. Just for that, ‘Hermannine’ is off the list.” Hermann growls and returns to his work, muttering to himself about how he will not abide being insulted in such a manner. Newton seems to take this as a win, and resumes his fervent dancing, now singing passionately to the hunk of Kaiju carcass sprawled over his largest workbench.

“Now, the party don’t start till I walk in!” Newton shouts delightedly, raising his arms and thrusting his chest forward in time.

“ _You_ wouldn’t even be _invited_ to the party,” Hermann grumbles, eyes shut against the onslaught of noise and appalling visual accompaniment. He continues writing, precise to the point of absurdity, the better to distance himself from the chaos happening all around him.

The track ends, and Hermann braces himself. The next song starts abruptly with a crash of drums and guitars, and a female voice bellowing in no uncertain terms that she takes exception to an unnamed person’s significant other. Newton spares no dignity joining in with her objections with gusto.

“Hey, hey, you, you! I want to be your girlfriend!” Newton crows, and Hermann has _had it_.

“iTunes, pause music, passcode ‘Moltres’!” he shouts over the din.

The music dims in volume just enough for the computerized voice to be heard. “Invalid passcode. Please restate command.” 

“I knew you were hacking me!” Newton yells, pointing an accusing finger as the female voice blares back in full force. “Cut that shit out, will you? _Some_ people have things they like to keep private!”

“ _Some_ people don’t have security questions like, 'Who’s in that ‘big ass coat’ from the thrift shop down the road?'” Hermann yells back.

Newton beams, delight plain on his face. “Okay, I was kind of hoping you’d find that.” He rejoins the song, smug grin plastered firmly on.

On a better day, Hermann would meticulously labor through the list of the original 150 Pokémon until iTunes concedes that he’s found the right one — he’s done it before, and it’s not too much of a chore since Newton is too much of a purist to delve into the list of the 1,304 Pokémon that sprouted up after 1999.

Today is not that day. Hermann gets up stiffly, clutching his cane dead in front of him and working his jaw in vitriol. 

“This has gone on quite long enough,” is what he finally grits out. He reaches into a desk drawer with one hand and pulls out the packet containing his Bluetooth ear buds, brandishing them in Newton’s direction. “I will be _up there_ ,” he continues, looking pointedly toward his equation-stained blackboards, “and _you_ will not disturb me until you have decided to cease your spectacle of noise and color and offer me an apology.”

With a flash of unease, he thinks he notes Newton’s eyes flick over the line of his body. His eyes narrow. He adjusts his cane purposefully, and cheating his frame outward, makes his way to the base of the ladder. His cane propped securely on a hanging light, he twists his ear buds in, taps one twice to link it to his own music library, and sighs in genuine relief as Astrud Gilberto’s clear tones drown out Newton’s cacophony almost entirely.

He definitely doesn’t glance back at Newton when he’s situated himself as high up as his rig will allow. And Newton is definitely not trying his hardest to suppress a smile as he peeks back.


	2. Chapter 2

The lab is quiet, save for Hermann’s resolute scratching. (All dancing and no lunch break makes Newton a weary boy.) After an enthusiastic concurrence with Lady GaGa about the way in which he was born, he has shut his music off and crept his way to just beside the ladder upon which Hermann is standing.

“Hermann.”

Hermann doesn’t respond. Newton thinks it _is_ possible that Hermann’s music is loud enough that he isn’t being purposely snubbed. 

All the same, Newton doesn’t take kindly to being ignored. He tests his weight on the lowest rung of the ladder, then, as quietly as possible (Hermann would be astounded, if he were paying attention) and as surreptitiously as possible (Hermann would be outraged, if he were paying attention) climbs up until he is standing on the rung just below Hermann’s brogues. Carefully, he presses his body forward until his chest is flush with the small of Hermann’s back, at the same time moving to grasp Hermann by the waist. It’s just as well, too, because Hermann starts so violently that he nearly topples off sideways, taking Newton with him.

Newton steadies Hermann firmly, centering his trembling form. Hermann rips out his ear buds and lets them fall to the ground.

“Newton, for _Christ’s_ sake, what _is_ it?” he hisses.

“Hermann, whatcha doin’?”

“Attempting to regain some semblance of sanity, Newton. What, pray, are _you_ doing?” 

“Don’t play that game, Hermann. You’ve been teed off and uncomfortable all morning, and then you retreat up here when I _know_ you still haven’t finished your report.” Newton nods toward the scattered papers on Hermann’s writing desk. “I’ve just checked. You even stopped writing _mid-sentence_. Something’s distracting you,” he adds in a singsong.

“Oh, and I wonder what that could _be_ , you unbearable miscreant!” Hermann shouts, echoing too loudly in the soundless lab. “You’ve been blasting your wretched music all morning, and accenting the _racket_ with every manner of apoplexy known to man.”

Newton grins, feral, behind him. Hermann’s hand is clutching a piece of chalk hard enough to grind it into a fine powder.

“And so we agree on something for the first time, Herms,” Newton says, and then his free hand is moving downwards, until it rests on Hermann’s slender hips. “I won’t say this wasn’t the entire point of the whole display.” He worms his fingers forward until they fan over the placket of Hermann’s trousers, and he presses down gently, and Hermann gasps, and the chalk snaps, because, oh yeah, Hermann is hard enough to drill diamond. Or corundum, at least.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that boner you tried to hide before you scuttled up here,” Newton murmurs. The positioning is all wrong, to say nothing of the height difference, so he isn’t humming into Hermann’s ear as much as he is to his ass. Well, that’s just as well for what he has planned.

Hermann is fitted up in finely-tufted corduroy today, and Newton scratches his fingernails over the ridges covering the flare of his pelvis.

“I’m sorry, Hermann. That’s what you wanted to hear, right? I was a pest this morning. Let me make it up to you.”

“Newton. Newton, no,” Hermann protests, bowing his head and holding firmly to the sides of the ladder. Newton notes that he doesn’t actually move to _stop_ his hand from its gentle strokes. “Not here. If you _must_ — and I admit I shouldn’t like to — to dissuade you — ” he pants, words sticking in his throat, “just — please, let’s take it to somewhere more private, somewhere _lower to the ground_ . . . ”

“What, you’ve never wanted to join the Mile High Club?” Newton says, laughing. Hermann huffs, but it’s almost breathless. “No way, Hermann. We’re doing this here, or we’re not doing it at all. For all my crimes, you did yell at me quite atrociously.” He places his hand more firmly over Hermann’s straining cock, squeezing fingertips over the head, and Hermann’s head thrashes, a small whimper escaping his throat.

“Thought so,” Newton purrs. He deftly pops Hermann’s trouser button and lowers the zipper with one hand, thankful that these aren’t the slacks with the button flies. He chances using both arms to lower Hermann’s underthings over his hips, and then Hermann is bare before him, skin pale and trembling. So, thoughtfully, he thinks, Newton wraps a steady hand around him and begins working him up and down.

The _noises_ Hermann makes, holy God, Newton is never going to have his fill of them. He starts with a resounding groan as Newton’s hand finally begins giving him the relief he’d been throbbing for since, well, Newton doesn’t know exactly how long, but he _had_ been dancing pretty sexily all morning. He progresses into a pattern Newton is well familiar with: fragile gasps when Newton gives his hand a twist; plaintive moans with each taut, powerful stroke; and soft mewls, dulcet as a piccolo, with every swipe of Newton’s thumb through a head now unabashedly leaking.

“Oh, _Newton_ ,” he murmurs. “Oh. Oh _my_. I’m — you’re so — oh, that’s — that’s —”

“I know, baby.”

“I’m not going to — ”

“I know, shh. It’s all right.”

“My — my pocket, Newton. Oh. Oh, but, _please_ —”

Newton unclenches his left hand from its vice around the ladder and searches Hermann’s trouser pocket, coming up with a pale cream handkerchief. Right. It wouldn’t do to get spunk all over Hermann’s pretty equations. He reaches around to bring it into the proper hand, and Hermann breathes a sigh.

“Yes, that’s — oh, oh my gracious, I’m — I’m — ” and _then_. And then Hermann stills his hips as a low scream grinds its way out of his throat. Newton feels warmth soaking its way through the handkerchief, and he keeps up a gentle rhythm, soothing Hermann through his peak. When he feels Hermann collapse against the ladder, knees taking up his weight, Newton removes the stimulation and throws the handkerchief to the ground to stroke bare fingers up Hermann’s side.

Hermann’s breathing is ragged, and he wilts against the ladder’s rungs like an unwatered sunflower. But then, incredibly — Newton can hardly dare to believe — he takes in a deep breath . . . and lets it out laughing. And then Newton is laughing too, not quite sure what is so funny but certain that he is, at the moment, overjoyed. They mold to each other as they giggle until Newton feels tears forming in his eyes.

With a hiccup, Hermann puts his trousers back to rights and looks down at him. “All right. Off. Now,” he commands, but it’s with a smile, and Newton is forced to scamper down more quickly than he would have thought possible as Hermann shimmies down fluidly. When they’re both on solid ground, Hermann wastes no time, retrieving his cane and bodily pushing Newton into the uncomfortable metal chair he keeps around for some reason. 

Well, maybe for this reason. The chair is low enough that Hermann can sit comfortably on the ground without putting undue weight on his knees, which is an absolutely optimal position right now. Newton’s hands are already on his flies, but Hermann pushes them away, pulling his trousers open and yanking them off Newton’s hips like they personally offend him. Without a second’s more hesitation, he takes Newton into his mouth and _sucks_.

Newton cries out, in torment and in ecstasy, and places one hand on Hermann’s neck, stroking through the buzzed threads in affectionate encouragement. Hermann’s head bobs, and it’s perfect, and Newton is going to last about _two seconds_ , and says so.

In response, Hermann’s hand takes up the majority of the stimulation of Newton’s cock as he uses his mouth to attend to the swollen head, giving it the tightest, hottest suction Newton can ever remember being party to. His tongue swirls the golden spiral into Newton’s slit and now Newton is the one screaming, a long curse as his hips jerk and he spills into Hermann’s throat.

They lie there afterwards, Hermann’s head on Newton’s thigh as Newton takes in heaving breaths. When definition returns to his vision, Newton runs a finger under Hermann’s jaw, tipping his head up into a kiss. It’s sweet, and soft, and it says, “I’m sorry,” and “Darling, I know,” and “But you’ve gotta admit,” and “I do, I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely [cerigg](http://cerigg.tumblr.com/post/94061087011/commission-for-drhermannhottlieb-of-a) created a _beautiful_ illustration for this fic. Work that booty, Newton. Oof.
> 
> I searched my own music for title inspirations for this fic and _cried_ – with – laughter when I happened upon this one. Thank you, Sam and Dave, and the most sincere apologies. Your music is marvelous and you never deserved to be treated this way.
> 
> Thanks go to notastranger for giggling about ladder!sex ideas with me, and to irisbleufic for encouraging me to finish writing as I was encouraging the k-scientists to finish, themselves.
> 
> (Find me on [Tumblr](http://drhermannhottlieb.tumblr.com/).)


End file.
